Not Broken
by Hold-my-tea
Summary: Sherlock is still in captivity and looking for an escape. Moriarty thinks he has finally broken the detective. John is searching everywhere for his friend. This is the sequel to Birthday Present. This one will be a multiple chapter fic. (non-con, dark themes, torture)
1. Chapter 1

He felt nothing and thought he was nothing at this point as he watched the man disappear out of the door once again with the same words he repeated day after day, "See you tomorrow." He was laying on the cold floor, naked, bruised, hungry. Using his coat, although it was horribly ripped at this point, as a blanket, Sherlock curled into a ball and closed his eyes. With one of his hands, he fingered the mark on his chest that had been carved and would remain for the rest of his days. The large JM. He had been in this small room long enough for the mark to become a jagged scar. Squeezing his eyes tightly, Sherlock drifted off to sleep into nothingness.

He awoke several hours later to the door being violently thrown open. Sherlock curled into himself because when Jim was angry he would be often the center of more extreme forms of torture. The first time he had seen Jim in this manner, he had Sherlock strapped to a table and attached multiple shock collars to his body. The second time he stabbed him in the leg multiple times and then poured alcohol on the wounds.

Jim tore the coat off of Sherlock and dragged him to the center of the room. He rolled Sherlock on to his stomach and sat on the small of his back. With one hand, Jim held onto Sherlock's neck to hold him to the ground while with the other hand, he produced a switchblade from his pocket. Jim pressed it against Sherlock's back with a chuckle, "Here is what is going to happen, darling. I'm going to fuck you and if you so much as make a noise, I will make a tally mark for every day you have been here. Understand?"

Sherlock didn't dare speak out of fear that he it would start cutting him immediately. Instead he gave a nod of his head despite the pressure of Jim's hand on his neck. Sherlock felt the hand release his neck and he sucked in a deep breath. The next thing Sherlock heard was the sound of a zipper and a pain that travelled all the way up his spine. Sherlock bit the inside of his cheek till he tasted blood to keep from crying out.

Jim laughed as he thrust into Sherlock. He didn't even attempt to ready Sherlock today. With every motion, Jim tried to elicit some form of noise from Sherlock. The most he got from the detective were the sounds of his breathing quickening. Jim reached up a hand and slapped at Sherlock's face to try and force a noise out of him.

Sherlock remained quiet. He didn't want to give any form of satisfaction to the man that was currently thrusting wildly into him. He gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut and just waited for it all to be over.

Jim finished with a final thrust and stood to his feet. He looked down at the man on the floor and smirked, "My, oh my, Sherlock. You seem to be bleeding." Jim leaned down and patted the top of Sherlock's head, "Such a good little pet." Jim thought back to everything he had done to Sherlock and he believed he had broken his toy. Moriarty loved broken things because that made them even more fun than when he first receives them. Running a hand through the thick curls, Moriarty gives a quick tug before standing to his feet and walking towards the door.

Upon feeling the weight lift off of his body, Sherlock felt relieved. His entire body was shaking in pain from the session he just received with Jim and all the other pains that had not even healed yet. When he heard the footsteps heading to the door, Sherlock sighed but instantly opened his eyes in fear. The footsteps had stopped at the door and were now returning back to Sherlock.

Jim had heard the sigh and he was not pleased. Grabbing a handful of Sherlock's hair, he pulled the man to his knees and forced him to look into his black eyes. Jim's face was contorted into pure rage. In a voice that was soft yet full of poison, Jim muttered, "What did Daddy tell you about making a noise?" Giving him a quick kick to the ribs, Jim relished the groan he heard Sherlock make as he crumbled back to the floor, "Don't resist my little pet. It will be over before you know it."

Sherlock kept his eyes closed as he felt the man sit on his back once more. He squirmed to get away but he was only met with a punch to the ribs. As long as Sherlock was able to move, he would fight. He knew he wouldn't be able to stop Jim from what he was about to do but he promised to himself he would not be broken by this man. When he felt the first cut, Sherlock winced, the second hurt a bit more but by the time Jim had reached the tenth mark, Sherlock was screaming. He knew Jim was going slowly just to hear the detective's pain.

By the time the final cut was made, there were 32 tally marks. Leaning down, Jim licked at one of the marks and smiled, "You've been here just over a month now, Sherlock. I am excited you have lasted this long." Jim stood to his feet and went to stand in the doorway, "I'm sure your little doctor is worried sick about you. Don't worry. He will be getting a message from me soon. See you tomorrow, Sherlock" With that, Jim closed the door locked it behind him.

Sherlock tried to curl up but the pain in his back prevented that from happening. Sherlock's breathing was erratic. He knew he would need to escape from this place before anymore harm could fall upon him. Closing his eyes, a plan soon began to formulate in Sherlock's head.


	2. Chapter 2

John was sitting at the table in the flat. Newspapers, files, and various other articles that could possibly help provide him with information were scattered around. Sherlock had been missing for thirty-five days now and John was in hysterics. Running his hands over his eyes due to the fact he had not slept in two days, John sighed. He was starting to lose hope.

A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door. John jumped at the noise because he was so focused on what was in front of him he didn't expect anyone to knock. Walking down the steps and opening the door, John looked around but didn't see anyone. The only thing was an envelope addressed to him. John frowned at not seeing a return address. "Sherlock would know who had sent it the moment he picked it up," John mumbled to himself as he walked back into the sitting room.

Upon opening it, John was surprised to find a DVD that had 'Play Me' written on it. Picking up his laptop, John inserted the disc and instantly froze at the face that appeared.

After the screen went dark, John grabbed his phone and quickly dialed Lestrade. John paced the floor in long strides till he heard the voice on the other end finally pick up.

"John?"

"Greg! Thank God you answered!"

"What's going on?"

"Come to Baker Street at once. It's about Sherlock. I received a message."

"I'm on my way. Is he alright?"

"I'm not sure, it was only a video of him. Just hurry," John muttered before hanging up. Sitting back down in his chair, he stared at the black screen of his laptop. A rage was boiling inside John and he was determined to let it out. He would destroy anything in his path to save Sherlock at this point.

Lestrade arrived twenty minutes later. "Alright, what sort of message do you have, John. I can't stay for long." Reaching for his laptop, John squeezed his yes shut, "It was a disc. I must warn you… You won't like what you see." John carried his laptop over to the couch so they could both watch it together although John didn't want to, he needed to do it for Sherlock.

John pressed play and the screen slowly came into focus on Sherlock's face. It was bruised, hollow, and empty. His lip was split, he had a black eye, and his hair was matted with what looked like blood, but his eyes were the most chilling aspect. His eyes looked as if they had given up. All color was gone from his face and if it wasn't for the quivering lips, someone would think he was dead.

After a few moments, the camera shook slightly and footsteps could be heard. John didn't need to be Sherlock to know that the camera was being held and not on some sort of stand. The footsteps were slow and methodical, as if they were enjoying every second of this movie.

John was already angry but when the camera had backed up enough, it was clear he was furious. Sherlock was on his knees, naked, and his hands were tied behind his back. He had multiple cuts on his body, some old but some freshly made and still bleeding. John tightened his hand into a fist because he knew what came next. The camera zoomed in on Sherlock's chest to show a large JM had been carved into it. John knew it was the oldest considering it had mostly healed already.

The footsteps could be heard once more. They finally stopped when Sherlock's back was to the camera. John could feel Lestrade jump when he witnessed the grotesque work that had been done to Sherlock's back. John counted them again, thirty-four. The final two looked to be fresh.

John was nearly shaking with anger by the time he heard the voice coming through the speakers. The same voice that was at the pool. The voice of Jim Moriarty, "As you can see, Johnny Boy, Sherlock is mine. He is my good little pet and he will remain this way for as long as I want him too." A hand could be seen reaching out and grabbing onto Sherlock's hair and yanking it back so his face would be seen by the camera, "Isn't that right, Sherlock?"

Sherlock's mouth was moving and it appeared he was trying to say something. Moriarty spoke once more, "What's that my dear? I can't seem to hear you." Moriarty tugged on Sherlock's hair once more and a pained noise issued from his mouth. The small noise was enough to allow some words to flow although they were hoarse and strained, "D- Don't…. Don't save me, J- John…"

A loud smack could be heard and the next thing on the screen was Sherlock curled into a ball on the floor. Moriarty's voice boomed through the flat, "WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT SPEAKING HIS NAME AGAIN!" The camera shook wildly before going black.

John stood to his feet in a silent rage. His nostrils flaring, fists clenched, and his eyes looked like those of a wild beast. Lestrade sat motionless on the sofa, still staring at the black screen. Letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding, Lestrade stood to his feet and blinked several times. He began to open his mouth to say something but John held up a hand to stop him.

Slamming the laptop shut, John had to restrain himself from throwing it across the room in anger. "When we find Sherlock, and I know we will, I want five minute alone with Jim Moriarty. Will you give me that satisfaction, Greg? That is all I ask," John spoke softly but it was clear he was furious. His voice was deliberate and seemed to be made of ice.

Lestrade simply nodded his head to John. He would not even try to stop John from doing something to the man behind the camera. He had never seen anyone damaged as mush as Sherlock seemed to be on that disc and Lestrade knew he would want justice. He would make sure that John had his five minutes and then he would get his own five minutes.

Lestrade had never really considered Sherlock a friend. He was more of an acquaintance but at this point, all he could see was a friend. A friend that needed help. A friend that was becoming a broken man.


	3. Chapter 3

**A.N/ I'm sorry this chapter is so short but I felt that if it was any longer, it would seem too wordy.**

* * *

Sherlock was alone in the small room at the moment. His plan was silly when you think about it but with such limited possibilities, there wasn't any other option. Looking over his shredded coat, Sherlock fingered one of the buttons. They were large and round. If someone wasn't careful, a person could choke on one.

Footsteps could be heard coming down the hall. Sherlock had his back to the door when it opened but he knew the steps well enough to know who it was behind him, "Why don't you just kill me already, Jim?" Sherlock's voice was cracked and dry from days of screaming in pain.

"You would like that, wouldn't you my dear? I won't kill you because I have too much fun with you. You are my broken little toy," Moriarty's voice was sickening. The lilt sounded innocent to most but people who know him can detect the malice that is hidden underneath. "You are not allowed to die, Sherlock. It is about time you figure that out." Kicking the coat out of the way, Jim kneels down in front of Sherlock and grabs the detective's chin, "And now you are going to put that pretty little mouth of yours to work."

Hanging his head in shame, Sherlock sat up on his knees as Moriarty stood to his feet and lowered his trousers. Sherlock absentmindedly performed his task wanting nothing more than for this to be over. Sherlock blocked out all the moans coming from the criminal as he continued to think of his plan.

Once Moriarty had finished, he patted the detective's cheek, "Such a good boy. I'm happy to see that you are no longer resisting. I like a compliant little pet." Moriarty laughed as he buttoned his trousers. "See you tomorrow, Sherlock."

Sherlock waited until he heard the door close before grabbing at his jacket. He pulled off one of the buttons and examined it closely. He had five minutes at the most. Sherlock only saw two ways this plan would go. Either he would die or someone would arrive to help in time. Either way, it would offer a chance to leave the room.

Five minutes. The maximum amount of time his brain should go without oxygen. The maximum amount of the brain can last without suffering irreversible brain damage. Five minutes is all Sherlock needed.

Using one of his fingers, Sherlock shoved the button to the back of his throat in an attempt to block any air from entering or leaving his lungs. Sherlock thought that Jim should be back in his office by now and would be looking at a small screen to watch his favorite pet. Sherlock knew Jim would only see what appeared to be a distressed Sherlock that was writhing on the ground in need of air.

Three minutes had passed and Sherlock could feel the tears coming to his eyes. His lungs felt as if they were on fire. His throat was tight and Sherlock was tempted to try and dislodge the button but he couldn't. It was his only salvation at this point.

Four minutes in and Sherlock's body relaxed. He could felt the thrashing stop and his brain began to stir with thoughts that he might actually die. Remembering that Moriarty said he was not allowed to die is the only thing that provided some form of hope to the detective. The last thing Sherlock heard before darkness completely surrounded him was the loud bang of the door being thrown open.


	4. Chapter 4

**I want to apologize for the wait. I have just started college and I haven't had much time to write.**

* * *

The first thing that returned was his sense of smell. Antiseptic and fresh sheets. That told Sherlock he was no longer in that small room. Next came his hearing. A rhythmic beeping (heart monitor), footsteps coming from a hall (different from Jim's), and an intercom saying that someone was needed in the ICU. A hospital. Finally, Sherlock opened his eyes. Everything was cloudy at first but he knew soon enough who it was standing over his bed. Blinking away the last of whatever drug he had been given while he was under, Sherlock stared into the dark eyes of the furious devil himself, "Hello, Jim."

Jim glared down at the detective. He thought about choking him till he passed out but that is what put Sherlock here in the first place. Jim had not counted on Sherlock ever leaving the room to require medical attention but he knew now to never make that mistake again. He had been forced to move Sherlock to a real hospital.

To ensure the secrecy of this little visit, Jim had replaced several employees with his own and had multiple guards stationed near the exits of the hospital. Shifting his angry glare to a smirk, Jim kept his gaze on the detective, "You did a very naughty thing, Sherlock. Trying to kill yourself won't work around me. You are not allowed to die, unless I say you can."

Sherlock tried to move his hands to rub his eyes but found they were restrained to allow minimal movement. Rolling his eyes, he realized he was most likely under psychological evaluation. He would not be allowed much movement with his hands until the doctors deemed him sane.

Sherlock knew he had to keep the charade up for a little longer if he wanted any hope for an escape. "Just let me die, Jim. I am of no use to you anymore. I am worthless," Sherlock mumbled. If he could make Jim believe what he said was the true, then he might be able to find a way out of this life he had been forced into.

Jim didn't show anything but on the inside he was absolutely giddy with Sherlock's words. He was blinded by the broken toy he had, he couldn't even see that it was being rebuilt. Piece by piece. "No, honey. You do still serve a purpose to me. I am going to keep you forever," Jim lilted as he sat on the edge of the bed.

Seeing the proximity of his right hand to Jim's pocket, Sherlock thought he might be able to grab his phone. He then thought against it due to the fact that he didn't even know what he would do with it once he got it. Jim would notice its absence the moment he steps out the door and there wouldn't be nearly enough time to send a message. Instead, the detective sank into the bed and closed his eyes. He meant it to look like a sign of defeat. He needed Jim to feel that he has utterly destroyed Sherlock.

Seeing his toy giving up for the moment, Jim stood to his feet and walked to the door. Opening it, but not leaving yet, Jim smirked at the detective, "Once we are out of here, that's when the real fun will begin." Not even seeing how Sherlock reacts, Jim walked out of the room with his hands in his pockets.

…

About thirty minutes after Moriarty left, a middle aged walked into the room. It was obvious he was a doctor by his ID and lab coat. Upon further inspection, Sherlock noted he was happily married although not wearing a ring (most likely out of fear of it becoming damaged in the hospital) and had a small dog back home.

The doctor was carrying a clipboard with some papers and only glancing up at Sherlock to note he was awake, his eyes shifted back to the papers. Pulling out a pen, he jotted a few things down before taking a seat in the chair next to Sherlock's bed, "Good afternoon, Mr. Moore. How are we feeling today?"

Moore? Of course Jim would use a fake name. Rolling his eyes, Sherlock looked up at the doctor, "Other than the incredible boredom and the fact I tried to commit suicide and failed… I'm doing fine." He spoke in a calm and collected voice. He almost laughed at how the doctor reacted. He tried to hide it but there was clear surprise on his face.

Blinking a few times, he went back to his clipboard, "Um… alright, I'm Doctor Chase. I want us to talk about why you would decide that you no longer wanted to live. Is that alright with you?"

"Seeing as I will be forced to talk anyway I guess so. But first you should know that you would never know what it's like being me. You obviously have a wonderful marriage and… a baby on the way," Sherlock mumbled to Dr. Chase. Trying to unnerve him with knowledge he shouldn't know about could work to his advantage. "But anyway, if you really want to know, I'll tell you," Jim had most likely given the excuse that he was Sherlock's boyfriend or something like that, "my boyfriend hurts me and he often forces me into situations I don't want. I've tried to leave but he always punishes me when I do." Sherlock conjured some fake tears to go along with his sob story, "And I needed out. I really did, Dr. Chase. I couldn't take it anymore. My back hurts so much."

A little surprised by his first comment, Dr. Chase's expression quickly changed to that of mild concern. He had heard stories like this before and most of the victim's had been freed by the their abuser going to prison or they had been killed. He always felt pity for the victims and he would always try his best to help. Writing down a few notes, Dr. Chase looked back to Sherlock, "I saw the injuries to your back. Could you tell me what happened?"

Sherlock brought more tears to his eyes to make himself more convincing, "I misbehaved and he made a tally mark for every time I tried to escape him." Sherlock's hands couldn't reach his face no he wiped his eyes into his shoulder. Sniffling a little, Sherlock looked the doctor over and saw what he needed. There were three syringes in his lap coat pocket. Most likely some sort of anesthetic to the patients that were hard to control or were in sever pain. "Please, I just want to rest now. I don't want to answer anymore questions."

Taking a final look at the man in the hospital bed, Dr. Chase frowned before standing to his feet. He always wanted to make his patients as comfortable as possible so he complied with Sherlock's request. Before leaving, he took one last look from the doorway and could only think how broken he seemed.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I am trying to update regularly. This story is almost done. Most likely three more chapters.**

John was watching the video again. No matter how angry he was, he couldn't just sit there and do nothing. He had watched the video over a dozen times to try and find the smallest thing that could possibly help him find Sherlock. So far, nothing appeared.

Standing to his feet, John went to the kitchen to have his fifth cup of tea in the last two hours. Everything that has happened over the last month has set John on edge and he was willing to try anything to calm himself down at this point.

Snatching his phone from the nearby table, he checked it for any new messages. Nothing. Frowning, John paced about the room before sitting down in front of his computer again to watch the video once more.

John kept his eyes on anything that might be of importance. When Sherlock's back was once again shown on the screen, John finally caught something. Looking at Sherlock's tied hands, John noticed a twitch of Sherlock's fingers. He obviously hadn't seen it before because he was too focused on the mangled mess of his best friend's back.

The twitch would appear to be nothing to anyone else but John could see it was purposeful and had a rhythm to it. John looked closer to see and he was correct to assume the twitch was Morse code. Grabbing a nearby pen and paper, John began to decipher the message.

.- - ... -. .-.-.- / .. / ... .- ...- . / .- / .-. .-.. .- -. .-.-.- / -.. - -. .-. - / .- - .-. .-. -.- .-.-.- / ... . .- .-. -.-. ... / ... - ... .-. .. - .- .-.. ... / ..-. - .-. / - -.- / -.. . ... -.-. .-. .. .-. - .. - -. .-.-.-

Translating it out, John didn't know if he should be afraid, excited or worried. Instead he opted to call Lestrade with his new information. John tapped the side of his leg in agitation as he waited for Lestrade to answer.

Not getting anything, John grabbed his laptop and jacket before running out of the flat and hailing a cab to take him to Scotland Yard. Arriving, John paid the cabbie and rushed inside to make his way to Lestrade's office.

John stopped himself from running into Greg's office when he saw Anderson and Donovan already there. John was about to step inside until he heard Donovan's nickname for Sherlock, "Look, the Freak is probably dead already and you should stop wasting everyone's time just to follow every little lead his boyfriends comes up with."

John clenched his fists at Donovan's words and nearly started yelling at her but before he could, Anderson chimed in, "It's not like he will even be useful anymore even if he is alive. He is most likely filling his veins with drugs. You know it would only be a matter of time before he gave in again."

"Enough!" Lestrade yelled at the two officers, "I want both of you out of my office now and don't even mention him again. He is alive and he is more useful than anyone here." Lestrade sat down in his desk chair and glared at the two surprised people. They had never seen an outburst from their boss like that before.

Slowly, they turned to leave and both their mouths dropped in unison to see John in the doorway. John glared at both of them as if they were insects. Stepping into the office, he looked to Donovan. Despite his obvious anger, John's voice was incredibly calm, "I would appreciate it if you would stop calling him that name." Turning to Anderson, "And are you off the clock?"

Anderson couldn't find the words, so he just nodded his head. A flash of confusion spread across Anderson's face when he realized what John had asked. "Why do you want to kno-" His sentence was cut off by a sharp punch to the jaw by John.

"Now, if you two are finished slandering my friend, I would love if you could leave so I could talk to Lestrade," John spat at the two officers. Anderson hurried out holding his jaw while Donovan just glared at John as she followed behind. John sighed as he approached Greg's desk, "You won't have me arrested for that, will you?"

"No, I won't. I thought I was going to the same thing before you walked in," Lestrade shook his head and squeezed the bridge of his nose. Looking at the laptop under John's arm, he raised an eyebrow at the blonde man, "Something new?"

"Yeah… Well, in a way. Sherlock left us a message in the video." Setting the laptop down, John fast-forwarded the video to the part where he found the message. Pointing it out to Lestrade, he leaned closer to see what John had been talking about.

John pulled out the slip of paper he had translated the message on and showed it to Greg to save him the time. Greg's eyes visibly widened at what Sherlock had been saying, "I'll get the word out. Don't worry, John. We will find him before it is too late."

John held the message in his hands and closed his eyes. His only hope was that he didn't miss his window of opportunity. They had no way of knowing how soon Sherlock would enact his plan after they had received the message and it their window of finding him was growing smaller.

John dropped the message onto Lestrade's desk and grabbed his laptop. "Thanks Greg, but please, we need to hurry," John nodded at the man before walking out of the office. Passing Donovan and Anderson, John smirked at them and he thought he heard Donovan whisper something under her breath. To John, it sounded like 'Psycho' and for some reason, it filled him with pride.

Lestrade watched as John left and picked up the message to read it once more. Frowning, he closed his eyes and reached for his phone. He would need to have all officers know what to do for this operation. He dropped the message on his desk and stared at the words. So simple and yet so many things could be held in them. "Where are you, Sherlock?" Lestrade never took his eyes off of the little slip of paper.

'John. I have a plan. Don't worry. Search hospitals for my description.'


	6. Chapter 6

**A.N/ I want to apologize for not updating sooner but college has me so busy, I have not had any time to write. It took me forever to finish this chapter.**

* * *

Sherlock's injuries were still in severe condition but that didn't stop Jim from visiting. He knew that Sherlock had gave a sob story of how abusive he was but it just took one of his people, disguised as a nurse, to be able to get into the room with Sherlock.

The detective was awake and glaring at the door when Jim walked into the room. He had been prepared to look scared and beaten in case Dr. Chase decided to walk in again. He had said that the restraints around his wrists would be gone if he continued to behave the way he was and that made Sherlock happy. Once the restraints were gone, he would be able to get out of the hospital and away from Jim's ever watching eye.

Jim smirked and walked to the end of the bed and placed a hand on Sherlock's leg. He then began to walk around so that his hand trailed from the bottom of Sherlock's leg to his hip. "You know… I think once we get out of here, I will put you into restraints. Keep you from pulling a stunt like this again, pet. It would also make you far easier to control-"

"I will not be controlled," Sherlock cut off Jim mid sentence. The next thing he knew was the sharp pain of Jim gripping one of the heavily bandaged cuts along his arm. Sherlock hissed and arched his head back, "Stop that!" He felt Jim's hand remove itself from his arm a second later although the throbbing pain remained.

"I will control you, for you are now mine," Jim's eyes darkened considerably and he was looming over the detective. He would love nothing more than to have Sherlock on the bed but he didn't need to arouse any sort of suspicion that he was even here. Instead, Jim reached his hand over and began to palm the detective through the bed sheets, "Don't ever forget that, my dear. You will never be able to leave or escape from my grasp."

Sherlock gasped at the contact on his crotch and tried to wiggle away but that only caused a needle like pain to shoot through his back and the hand to move over to cause even more friction, "Jim, don't…"

Sherlock's plea only made Jim palm him even more, "You don't get to tell me what to do, Sherlly. I decide when I can and can't touch you."

Sherlock pulled at his restraints and squeezed his eyes shut to try and resist the touch but it was a losing battle. His breathing began to quicken and he was thankful not to have a heart monitor on at the moment for it would cause a nurse to rush into the room. Eventually, Sherlock let a tiny moan escape and it made him feel sick.

The moan was music to Jim's ears and as quickly as he had started his fondling, he stopped. This was Moriarty's goal. He wanted to cause Sherlock to give in to him once more. He craved power and control. He smirked at Sherlock and leaned down to give Sherlock a chaste kiss, "See you later, Sherlock." He didn't even glance back before walking out of the room.

Sherlock took deep breaths to lower his heart rate and calm his body. Moriarty had left him hard and it was evident through the sheets. Sherlock hated Jim for doing this to him and he even more for putting him in this situation to begin with. He gritted his teeth and waited for everything to settle down and he hoped no one would walk into his room.

A few hours later, Dr. Chase came back into the room with a smile. Sherlock looked him over and he could see he still had the small syringes in his pocket. Walking to the bedside, he looked down at Sherlock and reached for the nearest restraint, "Some of the nurses were talking about how good you have been, Mr. Moore, and I have deemed you sound of mind. So we are able to finally remove these restraints." Walking to the other side of the bed, Dr. Chase quickly released Sherlock's other hand.

The moment his hands were free, Sherlock rubbed them to provide some comfort and to keep up his charade. His wrists were scarred by the many times he had been tied to a chair. Dr. Chase looked down at Sherlock with pity before sitting on the edge of the bed, "I'm not going to lie, Mr. Moore. Your wrists will have scars for the rest of your life and I would prefer if you enrolled in psychological counseling. It will help you…"

Sherlock tried not to smirk at seeing the doctor do exactly as he was wanting. Seeing his chance, Sherlock leaned forward and wrapped his arms around the man. For good measure, he even let a few tears slip trough his eyes. "It's just so hard, sometimes. He says he loves me but I don't know what to do…" Sherlock knew Dr. Chase was too distracted by his act to notice his hand slipping into the lab coat pocket and pull out all three of the syringes. Pulling back just as quickly as he gave the hug, Sherlock quickly tucked his hand under the covers to hide his prize from any eyes.

Dr. Chase wasn't surprised, he had been hugged by people like this on more than one occasion so he always said the same thing, "I'm sure it is but that doesn't mean you have to put up with his abuse. You could always file a restraining order, Mr. Moore."

Sherlock sighed and shook his head, "That won't work for me. He will always find me." Pausing, he readied one of the needles for what he was about to do. He had enjoyed the doctor's sympathies but he wasn't the right doctor. Sherlock, suddenly changed his demeanor to his normal stoic self and shut off his fake tears as quickly as he produced them, "And I would prefer if you would stop calling me that name for it isn't who I am…"

Dr. Chase raised an eyebrow at Sherlock at his word choice and his sudden change in attitude. He suddenly started to become worried but he didn't get to think long before he felt the sharp pain on one of his needles in his arm. The world around him began to spin as the sedative worked its way through his system. He was beginning to black out but not before hearing one final thing from the man in the bed. "My name is Sherlock Holmes."

Seeing the doctor fall against the bed, Sherlock slowly brought his legs over the edge of the bed. HE instantly froze at the pain that shot through his entire body. He wouldn't get very far in his current condition if he tried to walk out of the room, especially in one of the dreadful hospital gowns.

Looking around, Sherlock smiled in delight at the small red button on the wall. There was a morphine pump attached to his intravenous tubes. Carefully, Sherlock programmed the dosage he believed would still allow him mobility, but not too much pain, and pushed the button for it to flow into his veins.

Once the pain subsided, Sherlock ripped the tubes out of his arm and grabbed some nearby bandages to wrap his bleeding arm. He then looked over the man on the bed and realized they were close to being the same size. He quickly made work of Dr. Chase's trouser and shirt. Slipping them on, he then put the lab coat on and the syringes were placed back into the pocket they previously inhabited.

Sherlock made sure to position Dr. Chase into the bed to make him seem as if he was a patient and then he opened the door to that led into the hallway. Sherlock though he was going to be home free at this point. He thought he would be able to get back to his life once he walked out. He thought everything would be back to normal, but one of those rare moments occurred. Sherlock Holmes was wrong. Instead, he was greeted by black eyes and an Irish lilt, "Hello, darling. Going somewhere?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Sorry about not having Sherlock and having a shorter chapter but I promise, next chapter is in progress and will be up very soon.**

* * *

"Anything?" John nearly yelled as he rushed into Lestrade's office. They had been calling every medical center that could treat wounds like Sherlock's for the last thirteen hours nonstop and John was becoming more than a little agitated. He was actually on the verge of a nervous breakdown at the moment.

Lestrade had just finished a conversation with a hospital near the edge of London when John stormed in. He squeezed the bridge of his nose and shook his head, "No, I have not gotten confirmation yet. The places I have contacted don't have anyone fitting Sherlock's description." Lestrade had already had five cups of coffee that morning and was already wired. He didn't need anything else to distract him now that they had a possible lead as to where Sherlock could be. Lestrade blew out a large breath and massaged his temples.

John began to pace frantically in front of Lestrade's desk and ran his hands through his hair. John had not slept in nearly twenty-four hours and it was evident by the large bags under John's eyes. Finally deciding to sit in one of the chairs nearby, John sighs loudly and buries his face in his hands, "We have to find him soon, Greg. We just have to…" Sherlock was John's best friend and everyone knew it, but it was clear his disappearance was devastating the doctor.

Lestrade pursed his lips together and took several deep breaths. He was deep in thought and wasn't sure on how to proceed. This was much harder than he had first thought it would be, but his brain soon began to put the pieces together. "What if… What is we are going at this the wrong way? Sherlock said to search the hospitals but all we have done is call them. You said Moriarty had a large network of associates, so he may have placed people within the hospital to keep us from finding him… We might just have to search each one ourselves."

John stood to his feet and placed his hands on the edge of Lestrade's desk, "That could take weeks! We don't have the time to search every hospital and there is no way we can employ every police force to look for one man, Lestrade." John had given thought to this but he was losing hope that he would ever find Sherlock and wasn't even sure if it would work. Closing his eyes, he lowered his head and thought about it.

"That may be true, John, but it's all we have to go on. If we have any chance to find him, we have to actually search with our eyes and not our ears," Lestrade explained before standing to his feet. Walking towards the door, he motioned for John to follow, "We will just have to start with the first one on the list."

"Wait, Greg. We can't just go off and search every single hospital we find. We need to somehow narrow them down," John said before Lestrade could disappear out the door. Grabbing his own list of hospitals out of his pocket. He was looking for larger hospitals. Ones that would allow Moriarty to easily allow his own employees to slip in unnoticed by everyone. John grabbed a pen and began to cross out all the facilities that were too small or were too far away to search. Sherlock would have needed to be close judging by his injuries.

Once he was finished, John stood to his feet and nodded his head. He had managed to narrow down their search to only five different hospitals and all were either in or surrounding London. John looked up at Lestrade and motioned that he was finally ready, "Let's get him back."


	8. Chapter 8

**A.N./ Good news. I was was unable to access wifi for the last few days and that motivated me to write. So, I will publish the next chapter tomorrow. Only two chapters left everyone.**

* * *

Jim stood in the doorway and looked up at Sherlock with an expression that was between mild amusement and complete rage. He tapped his foot impatiently and shook his head, "I'm waiting for my answer, darling."

Sherlock was frozen in the to the spot. His face showed so sign of emotion as he looked down at the smaller man. He was worried for he knew he was too weak to fight him off but that didn't mean he wouldn't try. He slipped his hands into the lab coat pockets and tightened a fist around one of the syringes in case he would need it. Clearing his throat he finally spoke, "Just thought I would go for a walk, James. Care to join me?"

The look of amusement vanished and Moriarty gripped Sherlock by the arm and began to pull him out of the room, "If you are well enough to walk, you are well enough to leave." He half led, half dragged Sherlock down the hall but slowed down when he realized he was getting strange looks from nurses that were not his employees. He couldn't let people see him drag a man dressed as a doctor through the hospital.

Sherlock struggle to keep up considering he was still recovering. He had lost a significant amount of weight and blood. Even with the transfusions and food that had been given to him over the last several days, he still struggled to move very quickly. Sherlock tried to wretch his arm free from Jim grasp while bringing the syringe out of his pocket and launching his hand at Jim. His attempts were in vain when he felt a hand grab his wrist.

Jim knew Sherlock had a sedative and he was expecting something like this. He quickly brought his hand up and stopped the syringe from penetrating his skin by grabbing Sherlock's wrist. Still holding onto the taller man's wrist, Jim took the syringe away and placed it in his own pocket. "Thank you, darling. That will be very useful soon."

Sherlock tried to pull his wrist out of Moriarty's grip but found it useless. It was trying to break a rock by hand to Sherlock at this point. Still struggling, Sherlock brought his foot up and stomped hard onto Jim's foot. It stunned him long enough to loosen the grip on Sherlock's hand and he was free a moment later. Next, Sherlock brought his knee up to hit Jim in the groin, successfully doubling him over in pain.

Jim was irritated that Sherlock had scuffed up his shoes but he didn't get to stay that way for long. He suddenly let out a gasp of air and squeezing his eyes shut as fire spread through him. With heavy breathing, Jim could see Sherlock limping around a corner to a stairway. He began to follow but with not much more speed than Sherlock.

Sherlock just wanted to get away at this point. Rounding a corner, he found a stairway and began to go to the lower levels. He knew exactly where to go to defend himself best. Lower and lower he went. He needed to get to the morgue as soon as he could. He was struggling with every step to the point of needing to grip the railing to keep from falling.

Sherlock had made it down one flight of stairs when he heard the door to the stairway open and an echoing shout, "SHERLOCK! You won't escape me!" Jim was still moving slowly but he was getting faster by the second. Trying to increase his own speed, Sherlock stopped using the railing altogether. He made it down another flight of stairs when he lost his footing and fell down the stairs.

He didn't know how many stairs he had fallen down but his entire body ached at this point despite the morphine and he could taste blood. Spitting to his side, he realized one of his teeth had been knocked out. He also knew he had blacked out because Moriarty was gazing over him with pure rage on his face. Leaning down, Jim grabbed Sherlock by the shoulders and began to shake him violently. "You are not allowed to escape! When you will you learn that you broken toy?!"

Sherlock tried to blink away the pain and resist the shaking caused by Jim. He felt the shaking stop and Sherlock mumbled something out that wasn't coherent. "What is that? What did you say?" Jim shouted.

Sherlock was finally able to clear his head. Locking eyes with Jim, Sherlock narrowed his own, "I said… I'm not broken!" Bringing all the blood that had filled his mouth, Sherlock spit directly into Moriarty's eye, successfully blinding him for the moment.

Jim shouted in surprise and released Sherlock to wipe the blood from his eyes. He couldn't help but remember the first time Sherlock had done that during their first night together. Sherlock seeing his chance scrambled out from under Jim and into the morgue.

Sherlock looked around and noticed the pathologist on duty wasn't available. Sherlock was thankful for this fact as he ran over the nearest lab table and saw that whoever was supposed to be there was careless enough to leave out their instruments. Grapping the nearest scalpel, Sherlock ran hobbled back to the morgue entrance and readied his final syringe for an ambush.

Jim was fueled by rage and in so doing was becoming careless. Normally he would have suspected an ambush but he didn't. He blindly ran into the morgue and didn't even realize until it was too late that Sherlock had stuck a third syringe into his neck. Staggering backwards, Jim was beginning to find it difficult to stand. Jim came to rest against a wall and slid down against it.

Sherlock grabbed him by the ankles and began to slowly drag him into the center of the morgue floor. Standing over the criminal, Sherlock sneered, "I'm not broken and I will never be broken! I am you and you are me! It's only fair that we match." Normally, Sherlock would never stoop so low to what he was about to do, but after so much pain and torture at Jim's hands, he wanted retribution.

He didn't give Jim all of the sedative; just enough to stay awake but not enough to fight back. Sherlock would have preferred if Jim could have felt everything but that would have been asking for too much. Bending down, Sherlock tore the buttons from Jim's shirt and brought the scalpel out. Gently pressing it to the center of Jim's chest, he began to carve a large SH into the sensitive skin. The scalpel glided much easier than a pocketknife so Sherlock's initials looked almost elegant compared to the jagged JM on his own chest.

Finishing his job, Sherlock dragged Moriarty over to the cold storage unit and placed Jim inside. If John had found his message, then he would be arriving soon with Lestrade and they could arrest Jim then. Locking the unit door, Sherlock limped out of the morgue.


	9. Chapter 9

John and Lestrade had checked two of the five hospitals already and were about to start on their third. Getting out of the car, John stopped in his tracks when he saw three nurses near the entrance. There were two men and a woman but there was something wrong. "Greg, what do you see about those three?" John asked while motioning to the group.

Lestrade didn't see what John saw. If he had been in the military, he would see that the two men were standing as if in military solute. Lestrade didn't see this so he just shook his head and shrugged, "I don't see anything, John. So, if you could enlighten me, I would be grateful."

"This is the place. I just know it," John responded before walking as quickly as he could through the hospital doors. Once in the building John saw a few more people like the ones outside, men and women. Looking around, he noticed a woman heading towards the ICU. Walking up to her, John gave a winning smile before talking. "Hi…" John paused to look at her nametag, "Mary, my name is John Watson… I was wondering if you could help me?"

This woman blushed slightly at John's smile. She wasn't the best around people and would often make a fool of herself. She thought the blonde man was cute and wanted to help him anyway she could. "Sure… Um, how could I help you? Are you looking for a patient?"

"Yes, I am in fact. I'm looking for a friend of mine but I forgot which room he is in. His name Smith," John kept his smile as the nurse walked over to a nearby desk and grabbed a clipboard of names. As she flipped through it, John looked over her shoulder to look at the other names. He knew Smith was a common name and that there was sure to be at least one person with that name in the hospital. She flipped one more page at John saw what he needed. He saw the name that had to be Sherlock, 'J. Moore.'

"There are a few people with that name, Mr. Watson. Can I have a first name?" Mary looked up at John and frowned.

John shook his head and smirked, "It's fine, Ms. Mary. I can find him myself. I just remembered the room number. But if you will give me your phone number, I would be happy to give you a call in case I ever need your help again." She happily obliged and handed him a slip of paper and he wrote his own on the back of a business card she had.

Turning back around, John spied Lestrade looking astonished by what he saw. He thought only Sherlock could manipulate someone like that but clearly the detective was rubbing off on the Doctor. "Back to work, Detective Inspector," John said before walking past him to the elevator.

Minutes later, they rushed into the room but were both surprised and disappointed by not seeing Sherlock in the bed, but a middle aged man in his boxers strapped by his wrists to the railing. It appeared he had just awoken from sleep because he was having a difficult time keeping his eyes open. John was the first to step forward and speak because he knew this man wasn't a patient. A patient would obviously be wearing the dreaded hospital gown that was strewn into a nearby chair. "Who are you? Where is the patient?"

The man blinked several times trying to clear his head of the sedative. "I… I'm Doctor Chase. My- My patient drugged me… He stole my clothes. His name… not Moore, his name… Holmes." After that, Dr. Chase's head fell back down against the pillow and he was asleep again.

John grit his teeth and turned to Lestrade, "Release his hands, I'm going to look for Sherlock again." Leaving Greg behind, John walked back out into the hallway and saw a few more of Moriarty's people but he saw two normal nurses that seemed to be concerned about something. Moving closer, John began to eavesdrop on the two women.

"I just can't believe it! Seeing that man drag that doctor around."

"I know! Some people think they are so privileged because they can afford a nice suit. We have other people to attend to as well."

"I thought the doctor was very handsome but he needed a good meal. He was far too thin."

"I agree, he had the curliest hair and most stunning eyes I had ever seen. I wonder if he is single?"

"Where did he go anyway?"

"I saw him go through that stairway after he managed to get rid of that man in the suit."

John had heard enough and went to the stairway the nurse had indicated. Knowing Sherlock, he would have gone down, so that is what John did. He went down each level until he was just outside the morgue doors. Looking around, he stopped. On the ground was a small amount of blood and a tooth. "Oh God…" John mumbled.

He picked up the tooth and placed it into his pocket. He didn't know who's tooth it was but he had a feeling it was most likely Sherlock's. John continued to look around and he saw a little more blood leading away from the morgue and around a corner. Following the small trail, John saw that it ended at what appeared to be a break room for the morgue technician. Carefully, John opened the door and stepped inside.

The first thing he noticed was a portly man passed out on a nearby couch, the next thing was a syringe on the table next to him, and the third was a curly haired man sitting in a chair with bloody gauze in his hand. The curly haired man looked up and smirked, "Really, John. It took you long enough to get here."

John stood in shock for several moments before walking up to Sherlock and checking him for any new injuries since seeing the video. The only thing was a missing tooth. He knew Sherlock would be alright for now but there was one thing he needed to know, "Where is he?"

"Locked in a cold storage unit in the morgue. He won't be going anywhere unless someone lets him out," Sherlock nodded to John. Looking down at himself, Sherlock frowned. He could feel the morphine beginning to wear off. "Can you get a wheelchair and take me back to Baker Street? I feel that you would do a better job at healing my injuries than the ones here."

If it had been any other time, John would have laughed, but today he simply nodded and ran in search of a wheelchair for Sherlock. Returning several minutes later, John helped the detective into the chair and began to push him to a nearby elevator. As the doors opened, Lestrade was rushing out and he nearly fell into Sherlock's lap. Stopping himself, he looked delighted and concerned, "Christ, Sherlock! Are you ok? Where is Moriarty?"

Sherlock grimaced and rolled his eyes. He acted as if nothing had happened over the last month. "I'm will be perfectly alright with the help of John, Detective Inspector. Our dear friend Jim is in the morgue. Don't give me that look. He is alive but drugged. Now if you will excuse us, we are going home."

John took that as his cue to push the chair into the elevator and to leave Lestrade to arrest Moriarty. Once in the elevator, both John and Sherlock let out a small laugh and looked to each other. They knew everything would be fine now.

Once outside, the men hailed a cab. After helping Sherlock into his seat, John heard his phone ring. Looking at the caller ID, he thought it was strange that Greg would be calling him already. "Greg? What is it?" He scratched the back of his head and pursed his lips. Looking to Sherlock then around at the street, "Thank you. I'll tell him."

John slid into the cab and looked to Sherlock. His eyes said everything. Sherlock nodded to John and leaned back into the seat. He wasn't surprised in the least. Sherlock had left him with hit phone and of course he would call one of his men to let him out. Obviously the drug would have worn off. And of course, like he always does, Jim makes it out alive, but not without a mark this time. Sherlock almost smirked. Almost.


	10. Chapter 10

**A.N:/ Final chapter everyone. Sorry about the wait but I have been super busy and I just haven't had the time to write this. I know this isn't how everyone would expect it to end but I will most likely write another sequel. I just needed this ending to motivate me to make it.**

* * *

Everything in Baker Street had returned to normal, or what the occupants would call normal. After another month, Sherlock's wounds had healed. After two, he was out of the flat on cases again. By the third month, Sherlock was fully recovered and running across rooftops and through side streets chasing criminals just as he had before his time in captivity.

The first time Sherlock had shown his face back at Scotland Yard, John thought that Anderson and Donovan were about to collapse at seeing him alive and relatively well. Donovan had given her usual greeting to Sherlock and was confused at first as to why she was calling John a psycho. John had merely laughed and said he would explain later.

Six Months had now passed since Sherlock had returned home and he was doing just fine. Everyone looked at him with pity at first for they all thought he would be suffering. Quite the opposite in fact; Sherlock showed no signs of shock and his mind was working just as fast as it had been before.

He was currently sitting in his chair with his violin tucked under his chin. He was in the middle of composing a new piece when John walked into the room. A quick glance told Sherlock that John had a date. Probably with that nurse from the hospital, Mary or something like that. Sherlock was actually surprised they had been dating for so long now. It was the longest relationship John has had since moving in with Sherlock.

Once John was gone, Sherlock sat back in his chair and placed his violin to the side. He was bored now and he decided to try and get lost in his mind palace. Eventually, Sherlock found his way to that part of his brain that contained Moriarty. He went over ever detail that the man had done to him and all the pain he had been through, but there was something there he was confused about. Instead of dwelling on it, he decided to get answers.

Sherlock sighed as he opened his eyes and looked around the room. He sat in silence for several more minutes before jumping to his feet and grabbing his coat. He hailed a cab and gave the address he had discovered a few weeks prior that would most likely put him into the lair of the spider. This was something Sherlock had decided needed to be done.

Within thirty minutes, Sherlock was standing in front of a large black door. The flat itself wasn't very noticeable. It almost looked rundown in considering the neighborhood he was in. Most of the building around were either abandoned or were filled with drug dealers. Sherlock knew this area quite well from his past.

Sherlock tied the doorknob and found it to already to be unlocked. 'So Jim is expecting me? Typical,' Sherlock thought to himself as he took a few steps into the flat. The inside compared to the outside could be described as day and night. The inside was immaculate and gaudy. The furniture was high end and very ornate. The fireplace was lit and a tea tray that had two steaming cups of tea were set out ready. There were two chairs sitting across from each other in a similar fashion to Baker Street and one was currently inhabited by the consulting criminal.

Looking up, Jim smirked at Sherlock, "It's rude to keep someone waiting, Sherlock."

He seemed well. Of course he would for the only damage he received was at the hospital when Sherlock had carved something into his chest in a blind rage. "I must say, you arrived much later that I thought you would and it seems Johnny Boy is having a wonderful time with that nurse."

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he removed his coat and placed it on a nearby hook. Walking over to the other chair, he sat down across from Jim and eyes the tea. "Don't worry, no drugs this time. I know it is pointless to try and keep you locked up. You can't be broken like the ordinary people," Jim muttered as he picked up the cup closest to him and took a sip.

"The fact that you think I am ordinary shows how much faith you have in me, Moriarty," the detective responded picking up the other cup. He let the steam warm his face for a moment before taking a sip. He couldn't detect any sort of drug but he was still skeptic.

"No, you aren't ordinary at all Sherlock. You are just like me. Willing to do anything to survive. You proved that already," Jim smirked as he traced his finger in the shape Sherlock carved. "I'll tell you what, Sherlock… I'll show you mine if you show me yours," Jim smirked over his cup and raised his eyebrows before taking a sip.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at Jim in mild confusion before understanding what he meant. He could refuse but then what was the point of coming here? Standing to his feet, Sherlock removed his jacket then began to unbutton his shirt just enough to expose to jagged JM on his chest. Six months had done nothing to make it fade. It would be there for the rest of his life.

Moriarty looked at the skin he had once grazed his hands over. He admired the way the scar caused ugliness to the perfect skin. He believed it made Sherlock even more beautiful than he was before. Showing imperfections on the outside that can't be seen on the inside. Jim closed his eyes and stood to his feet. Repeating the same steps as Sherlock and opened his own shirt to reveal the large SH.

Sherlock stared at his initials and felt a smile pull at the corners of his mouth. He had marked the criminal and he had enjoyed it. He was happy to see him come out of their squabble with his own battle scars.

Sherlock was right in how Jim's scar healed. It was smooth compared to his own scar. Sherlock made a daring move then. He stepped forward and pressed a hand to Jim's chest, tracing the letters and marveling at his work, "I am you… And that is why I have come with a proposal."

Jim's eye gleaned with delight at Sherlock's words. He had an idea what Sherlock meant and he would be happy to oblige. Jim looked down at Sherlock's hand then reached out his own to touch the JM. It was only fair that he touched the detective at this point.

"I come and go as I please. You get what you want and we can avoid having to worry about anyone disturbing us. Everyone that is close to me is off limits. I know most people think I would have developed Stockholm's Syndrome but I know that isn't the case. I still hate you but that doesn't mean we can't still satisfy the other. Would you agree...?" Sherlock trailed off as he looked down at Moriarty. One eyebrow raised and lips slightly parted.

"Oh, but darling… Hate sex is one of the most enjoyable…" pausing for a moment he looks around the room then back to Sherlock, "I'll give you my answer later," Jim stated before grabbing Sherlock by the shoulders and crashing their lips together. It became a fight for dominance with teeth and tongues. Both trying to outdo the other.

Sherlock's fingernails trailed down Jim's skin, causing red marks to appear. Stopping at the buttons of Jim's shirt that had not been undone, he made quick work of those before pushing the shirt off of Jim. His arms wrapped around Jim and fingernails continued to trail paths over his back now.

Jim gave a small moan and pushed Sherlock backwards until he was pressed against a wall. Removing his hands, he grabbed at Sherlock's and pinned them above his head. Holding the detective's wrists in one hand, Jim used his free hand to liberate Sherlock of the remained of his buttons. He didn't let the shirt fall just yet. Instead he buried his face into the detective's neck and bit down where the shoulder connected to his neck. He could taste blood and that drove Jim crazy.

Sherlock moaned and struggled to free his hands. He was finally giving in to the pleasure that his body wanted for so long but denied. He needed this more than anything. When he felt the teeth dig into his flesh, a gasp escaped his lips and a shiver ran through his entire body, "Jim…"

Jim finally released Sherlock's hands and forced the shirt off. He pressed his entire body up against the taller man, making sure his hips caused friction on Sherlock's crouch. They were only beginning and Jim could feel how hard Sherlock was already. Grabbing Sherlock by his belt, Jim dragged him towards the bedroom and threw him onto the bed. Sherlock was currently on his stomach and Jim stared in awe at the scars on his back. So beautiful.

Sherlock was in a daze at the suddenness of being thrown. Rolling over, he gazed up at the man and smirked. He ran his hands over his chest scar and raised an eyebrow, "Are you just going to stare or are you going to act?"

Jim made a noise in the back of his throat that could be the equivalent of a growl as he fell on top of Sherlock and pressed his lips to Sherlock's once more in a bruising kiss. He ground his hips into Sherlock and relished the moans he was hearing from the taller man.

"Oh… God, Jim!" Sherlock groaned as he arched his hips up into Jim. Wanting more and more of the friction. Unable to take it, Sherlock reached down in between their bodies to get to Jim's trouser buttons. Making quick work of that, Sherlock pushed them down along with Jim's pants.

Jim didn't want that yet so he retaliated by biting down on Sherlock's collarbone. He could taste blood once more and that pleased Jim. Jim could her Sherlock had toed off his shoes and toed off his own so he could push his trousers the rest of the way down. He then undid Sherlock's trousers and pushed them down as well.

Jim looked over Sherlock's naked body and was smiled. The detective had willingly given himself over and that made this so much better than when Jim had him in captivity. Reaching over to the nightstand, Jim fished around in the drawer and brought out the small tube. He had not used it much when he was with Sherlock before but this was a special occasion and he wanted it to be nice for them both. Jim applied a generous amount onto his hands and began to stroke himself with one hand and pressing into Sherlock with another. Jim pressed two fingers inside Sherlock and began to violently twist and scissor him.

When the fingers first entered Sherlock, he gasped at the amount of pain and pleasure he felt. It was soon replaced by only pleasure as he fisted the sheets and moaned at what the criminal was doing to him. He wasn't sure how long the fingers were in him but they were soon removed and he felt something else pushing at him.

Jim had removed his fingers and immediately lined himself up. A moment later, he pushed into Sherlock. He relished the feeling of the muscles flexing around his length. Waiting a moment for the muscles to relax, Jim began to thrust deep and hard within Sherlock. Hearing the detective moan beneath him only made his go harder.

Sherlock gripped onto the sheets for his life. He felt pleasure rock through his body with each thrust of Jim and it drove him crazy. This is what he needed. He body had craved this. Sherlock wrapped his legs around Jim and began to run his hands through Jim's hair. Suddenly, Sherlock thought he felt electricity shoot through his body. On instinct, he pulled at Jim's hair, which made a hiss come from the criminal.

Jim smirked at Sherlock's reaction. He found his prostate and began to continually thrust to continually hit it over and over. Sherlock's moans were growing louder by the minute and he came a few moments later. Jim felt himself approaching his limit. He gave a few more hard thrusts and he came with an animalistic growl. Jim rolled off of Sherlock and stared up at the ceiling.

The two men lay next to each other, covered in sweat and breathing heavily. They lay on the bed, unmoving for several minutes. Silence filled the flat, neither wanting to be the first to talk but Jim knew it would need to be him. Reaching his hand up, he placed it on Sherlock's chest scar and mumbled, "Sherlock… you have a deal."


End file.
